


Mutual vulnerability

by ToxicPineapple



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (Not between Amamota lol these boys are gay), 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baking, Banter, Conversations, Crying, Developing Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Harukawa Maki is a Good Friend, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mourning, Past minor character death, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Relationship, developing crush, implied romantic feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Hmmm. Amami wonders if maybe he’s being a little bit of a hypocrite. He’s pretty sure he would erupt into flames if a member of his class saw him crying. That’s pretty much the worse case scenario, in all honesty, being caught in tears. (It was bad enough when Akamatsu found him crying. Never again. Amami cries in his room, thanks, and nowhere else.) Maybe Momota is similar, in that he doesn’t want anyone to see his weaknesses. Though why in particular Momota feels like that, Amami really couldn’t… say, one way or the other, not unless he knew Momota really well, and he doesn’t. Any guesses he might make would just be speculation, really.Unless he got to know Momota better. The thing with getting to know people, though, is that it requires… mutual vulnerability. Amami isn’t so great at vulnerability. Less because he hates people knowing he has problems, more because he knows how they’ll respond, and he just doesn’t want to hear it.And! Being close to people means that he could lose them, which is not ideal.---The five times Momota refused to open up to Amami, plus the one time he did.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Momota Kaito
Comments: 41
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Alternative, the five times Momota cucked Amami, plus the one time he didn't.)

So, Amami isn’t  _ close  _ with Momota.

Actually, scratch that. Amami isn’t close with  _ any  _ of his classmates, even after going to Hope’s Peak Academy for well over a year. Except Akamatsu, maybe, if by being close you mean she walked in on him once having a breakdown in a janitor’s closet. It was stupid, and it’s not like she even got all the context for it. Or any of the context for it. All Amami really told her was that he got his hopes up about something, and then it didn’t end up happening.

  
Which is true! Just. It’s not the kind of thing that Amami would usually end up crying over. He’s pretty good at not doing that, in fact, crying, it’s just that he was so tired at the time, and stupidly, irrationally, he got his hopes up that time, that maybe he’d actually get closer to finding one of his sisters.

No such luck, obviously, or he wouldn’t have been crying.

But Amami isn’t very close to the rest of his classmates-- by virtue of the fact that the time he spends at school to the time he spends in some foreign country or another is about a fifty-fifty ratio, generally speaking-- and that’s just fine, it really is. Maybe it’s a bit lonely sometimes to walk into breakfast and not have a regular spot every day, but hey. If Amami wanted that, maybe he should’ve tried not losing twelve sisters around the world.

That’s, a joke. Ha ha. It’s fine, though, it is. Less people to be close to means less people to lose someday. And that in itself is a virtue, really.

But just because Amami and Momota aren’t close doesn’t mean Amami isn’t gonna notice when he doesn’t show up to breakfast.

Like, okay. There are some people in their class who are pretty flaky when it comes to mealtime attendance. Breakfast especially. Like, Harukawa for example, only just started showing up to meals about a month ago, after she and Momota became close. (Or, well, close is a weird word for it, but it seems like they’ve been spending more time together recently, even if Harukawa calls Momota an idiot at least three times in every interaction that Amami has ever witnessed between the two of them.) Saihara goes to breakfast every other day, usually to get some coffee and then promptly sulk in his seat across from Momota, and with Hoshi there’s always a fifty-fifty chance that he just won’t show up to a meal at any given time.

  
Whether this is because Hoshi takes his meals in his room, or because he is  _ so  _ anti-social he’ll skip meals to cling to his solitude, Amami can’t say, but it’s also not really his job to judge, because they’re not close.

Iruma will miss breakfast on occasion because of inventions, and Shinguuji travels semi-frequently (not nearly as much as Amami does, but still, a bit) so sometimes he’s not present, and Angie will go into these weird moods where she just won’t talk to anybody all day because she’s locked up in her lab painting, and it’s a little concerning but she insists it’s nothing to worry about, so. It’s less common from the three of them, but it still happens, and if Amami saw one of them miss breakfast, he’d probably assume that they’re busy with one of the aforementioned things before hopping to worry.

_ Momota,  _ though. It’s not like Amami has his schedule committed to memory, or anything, because he doesn’t, but he knows from the group chat that Akamatsu created (that he lurks in, oops) that Momota goes on runs every morning before the sun rises and is always the second person to the dining hall. He even knows Toujou prepares Momota coffee before everybody else, in anticipation of this.

So it’s weird, it’s really weird, when Amami comes into breakfast, and the room is full and bursting with chatter, but Momota isn’t present. There’s a mug in his familiar place, but it appears untouched, the coffee in it probably room-temperature by now. Harukawa is sitting in her spot beside Momota’s, and Akamatsu and Saihara across from her, and everyone else is going about their business as normal, it’s just. Momota isn’t here.

Amami gets nervous when he sees things like that. He knows he’s probably just being paranoid from losing his sisters, but  _ c’mon.  _ People who are so accustomed to routine like Momota is don’t just stop doing things for no reason, that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe there’s a personally reasonable explanation for it, but Amami has brushed things that off for that very reason in the past, despite his misgivings, and has ended up with twelve missing sisters for his efforts. And he and Momota aren’t  _ close  _ but it would just, it would really, really suck if something bad is going on with Momota and Amami suspected something and didn’t do anything about it, that’s all. That’s  _ all. _

  
So he’s just gonna nip this one in the bud. Maybe Momota’s out with the flu. Whatever the case, his friends will probably know about it. He’s closest with Saihara and Harukawa and Akamatsu, after all. So Amami casually slides himself into the empty spot beside Akamatsu, resting his elbow on the table and leaning over to look at them all, a pleasant smile settling on his features. It’s unnerving how Momota isn’t here this morning to greet him with an enthusiastic grin, but Amami lays the thought to rest. That’s why he’s here in the  _ first  _ place. Chill out, anxiety boy.

“Oh!” Akamatsu perks up, her gaze settling on Amami, and tilts her head a little bit when they make eye contact. The smile on her face is pleased, if a bit surprised. “Good morning, Amami-kun! You don’t usually sit with us!”

_ I don’t usually sit anywhere,  _ is on the tip of Amami’s tongue, but he swallows it down, because he’s pretty sure that would just make Akamatsu feel awkward. “Hey,” he greets instead, tilting his head in turn, and quirking his brows at Akamatsu. “How’s it goin’, Akamatsu-san?”

“It’s going good!” she says, brightly. “Look, Saihara-kun is actually eating this morning! No vegetables, but we have to work our way up the totem pole, right?” She giggles.

“Akamatsu-san…” Saihara sighs, looking exasperated, and maybe a touch embarrassed. His lips curl in fond amusement after a moment, though, and he turns his grey eyes onto Amami, humming quietly. “It’s good to see you, Amami-kun. You’re just back from, ah,” he furrows his brow, “Vietnam, aren’t you?”

“That’s right, flew in last night,” Amami replies, maybe a little warmer than he means to. Nice of Saihara to pay attention.

(And also a little unsettling, because if Saihara is paying attention to where Amami goes then he could easily figure out that Amami cycles through the same twelve or so places over and over again, find a pattern, he’s a detective, it’s not unheard of, and if Saihara finds out about Amami’s sisters he’ll probably tell Amami to quit looking for them, and that would be pretty unbearable, actually, hearing it from a detective. It wouldn’t make Amami  _ stop,  _ nothing has ever been enough to make Amami stop, but it would still suck.)

He puts those thoughts away. “I’m happy to make small talk with you guys any time, but actually, I came by with a question,” Amami lifts one of his hands, gesturing at Momota’s empty seat. “Is Momota-kun alright? I know I’m not here often, but he doesn’t miss breakfast a lot, does he?”

“I was a bit worried myself,” Saihara admits, furrowing his brow a little bit. “Though he missed class once before last year while you were on another trip, and it just ended up that he was out sick. I think that must be the case this time, because he’s been replying to my texts, so I can’t imagine it would be anything particularly serious.” He hums. “At least, that’s just my guess… there might be something else, but I haven’t gotten the opportunity to ask.”

“He’d probably just dismiss you if you tried,” Harukawa huffs, tugging on one of her twin tails and frowning down at her breakfast. “Trying to talk productively with Momota is like talking with a brick wall.” Well, Amami wouldn’t know, so he guesses he can’t exactly  _ refute  _ what Harukawa is saying, but even if she has a point, he’d still feel pretty awkward if someone was saying that about him, so it leaves him feeling a little odd. It’s fine, though. Amami brushes it off. Harukawa is pretty blunt.

“I didn’t know you and Momota-kun were close, Amami-kun,” Akamatsu remarks, smiling slightly. Amami turns his gaze to the other girl, raising his eyebrows mildly.

“Oh, we aren’t,” he denies, shaking his head. “I was just curious, since it’s a bit out of the ordinary for him. If you think things are fine, then you’re probably right.”

Saihara gives him an odd look at that, one that suggests he doesn’t quite believe what Amami is saying-- though whether this is in reference to Amami’s remark that he and Momota aren’t close (which is true) or his saying that he’ll take their word for it (which is less), Amami couldn’t say. Regardless, Saihara is right to be skeptical, because Amami sticks around for a bit more small talk, gets brutally rebuffed in his efforts to ask Harukawa how she’s doing, and then takes off from the dining hall, intent upon finding Momota before class starts.

It’s not that Amami doesn’t trust Saihara’s opinion on Momota’s wellbeing. Saihara and Momota have been close practically since arriving at this school, to the point where they’re almost always together-- or at least, they have been, in the times when Amami has seen them. He doesn’t want to make any uneducated statements about the relationships that his friends have with each other, but if Amami had to guess, he would say that Saihara and Momota are best friends, yeah, no problem. Not much of a reach there, honestly. If anyone should know how Momota is doing, it’s Saihara.

The only thing is, Amami kind of has problems with… taking things at face value. Sue him, he lost a dozen sisters and now he’d like to see things for himself before he comes to any conclusions about the status of the people in his life. He doesn’t think that that’s so unreasonable, honestly. It’s a good practice, even, to check up on people when you’re not sure. Even if he and Momota aren’t close, he’s sure Momota will appreciate the gesture, regardless of whether or not anything is actually wrong.

Amami pulls out his cell phone as he exits the main building, starting down the path to the dorms while he opens up his DMs with Momota. He’s never texted the guy one-on-one before, actually, that’s how  _ not that close  _ they are, which only makes this even more weird and out of the blue, but hey. Amami is a concerned classmate. It’s fine. Amami thinks his concern here is warranted.

Anyway, Amami shoots him a quick text.

_ [hey, Momota-kun. I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. is everything good?] _

Momota’s reply comes in shockingly quickly, as Amami is pushing open the door to the dorms building, so much so that he almost drops his phone once he gets inside, surprised by the buzzing. Momota must be on his phone right now-- that’s the only way he could have seen the text message so fast.

_ [Hey man! Good to talk to you, don’t think we’ve ever texted before] _

Another text comes in right after that one.

_ [I’m fine, thanks for the concern! Looks like I’ve got a bit of a cold this morning so I think I’ll miss out on classes today, heh] _

_ [I guess I forgot to tell Toujou not to make coffee for me, huh. I should text her and apologise] _

_ [Sorry if I made anyone worry] _

Momota texts kind of fast, huh? Amami leans against the wall by the dorms entrance, humming slightly. For someone who’s sick, Momota is remarkably coherent. And that’s not so unusual; people don’t  _ have  _ to get all rambly and weird just because they’re down with the cold or something, least of all Momota, who works out a lot and probably has a pretty strong constitution, but. Mmm. Well, maybe it’s a bit stupid, but Amami had sorta taken Momota as the kind of guy to try and tough it out, even when he’s sick. Obviously he’s missed class due to illness before, but if he can form proper coherent sentences like that without any typos, Amami has to wonder if Momota is really the type to miss class over it.

He types out a reply.

_ [sorry to hear you aren’t feeling well, that sucks. is there anything I can get for you? cough drops, tea, extra blankets?] _

Again, Momota’s reply comes in fast.

_ [Nice of you to offer! I’m doing fine, though] _

_ [are you sure?] _

_ [Yeah, I’m pretty stocked over here, actually, lol] _

After a moment, Momota sends another text.

_ [Maybe a box of tissues, if it wouldn’t inconvenience ya] _

Amami smiles. Hell yeah. Arbitrary acts of kindness for a sick classmate who he isn’t that close to. This is where all the  _ good  _ serotonin comes from. He shoots Momota an affirmative and then leaves the dorms building, trekking back across the courtyard in the direction of the main building. It’s the first of October, and while it isn’t all that cold yet, there’s a brisk breeze in the air that Amami didn’t notice on his first trip through.

It’s nice, actually. Autumn is his favourite season, even if Amami kind of misses the cherry blossoms from April. He supposes he can see how Momota caught a cold. Apparently he and Saihara (and now Harukawa) are out pretty late every night working out. Probably stuck outside a bit  _ too  _ long and caught something. It’s happened to Amami before, so he wouldn’t be surprised, despite his initial assumption about Momota being somebody with a decently strong immune system. Amami crunches some leaves underfoot before he reenters the main building, cutting across the hall to the warehouse and slipping inside.

Damn, Amami hates the warehouse. It’s dark and crowded and that’s just not a good combination for a claustrophobic, typically. He grimaces slightly as he finds a box of tissues and then books it, only breathing out fully once he’s back in the courtyard. Ick. Major ick.

He doesn’t mind so much, though. He’ll be happy to pass these over to Momota in a moment here. Amami reenters the dorms and walks down the hall until he reaches Momota’s door, which he double checks a couple times to make sure he has the right one before pressing the buzzer. He only does it once, so as not to be annoying.

It… takes a moment, for Momota to answer the door, which makes sense, since he’s sick. Amami shuffles the unopened box of tissues between his hands while he waits, idly counting passes, and he’s on his eighth pass when the door unlocks, and then swings open, and then Amami finds himself standing face to face with Momota Kaito.

Immediately, Amami notices that Momota looks… 

Fine. Momota looks fine. His complexion is normal, he’s standing without support, and his hair is even gelled up, if a bit messy, as though he’s been running his hands through it. His shirt, which is unbuttoned over a white undershirt (as ever) is slightly crumpled, but Amami can see clothes on the floor of Momota’s room from where he stands in the doorway, so this really isn’t such an unreasonable thing. Actually, if he hadn’t been told, Amami wouldn’t have even thought Momota was sick at all, so really this is--

“Hey,” Momota speaks, and Amami snaps back into reality, his brow furrowing at once upon hearing how  _ hoarse  _ Momota’s voice sounds. Maybe from coughing? Amami lifts his gaze, noting as he does so that Momota ducks his head a bit, dodging eye contact, and appearing to set his sights on the tissues. (Amami wouldn’t  _ really  _ know, as Momota’s bangs fall in front of his eyes, and Amami can’t see much more than his eyelashes peeking through. On an unrelated, slightly gayer note, Momota has really long eyelashes.) “Thanks, man, sorry for imposing.”

“You weren’t imposing,” Amami assures, snapping himself out of his daze. He hands over the tissues, pulling up a smile. “Don’t worry about it, I was happy to. Helping out a classmate, y’know?”

“Yeah,” and Amami notes, because he can’t help himself, that while Momota’s voice is hoarse, it’s not congested. If not for the hoarseness he’d sound totally normal. Amami really doesn’t get how he has a cold. “Still, I appreciate it.”

“Uh-huh,” Amami smiles more genuinely, despite himself, as Momota straightens. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, okay? Sucks having a cold, even if you’ve already got everything--”

Amami breaks off when he and Momota make eye contact, mainly because Momota’s eyes, while they are their usual shade of lilac, are also tinted red, and puffy, and slightly bright. Almost as if--

“Hey, Momota-kun, are y--”

“Thanks again, Amami,” Momota says, a bit abruptly, stepping back from the door. “I’ll probably be better by tomorrow, so I’ll see you then, yeah?” He smiles, and Amami notices, meeting Momota’s gaze as he is, that his smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“Wait, Momota-kun, what--” before Amami can finish his sentence, the door closes, a touch more suddenly than Amami is expecting it to, and the last word of his question leaves his lips before he can think much about it, “happened…?”

Momota doesn’t answer. Even when Amami sends a few concerned follow-up questions, and camps outside his door for a good portion of the morning, Momota just leaves him on read, and eventually Amami is forced to accept that Momota isn’t going to tell him what’s the matter.

(They’re not that close, so, it makes sense. It still sucks a bit, though, seeing Momota the next day in class, when rather than ignoring Amami, he acts like nothing ever happened at all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonder what kaito needs those tissues for


	2. Chapter 2

Amami spends the week after that incident keeping a… closer eye, on Momota.

He doesn’t mean to! It’s not like he wants to make Momota feel awkward or uncomfortable or anything-- least of all does he want Momota to start dodging Amami because he saw something he wasn’t supposed to-- but it’s just, it’s strange.

It’s strange that somebody like Momota, who is so constantly surrounded by people, would be crying alone in his room and effortlessly pretending to be okay over text, rather than asking for help. At first Amami thinks that maybe Momota  _ did  _ ask for help, and he just didn’t ask Amami, (which would make sense, because they’re not close) but later on, Saihara asks Amami if Momota was okay when he went to check on him-- which in retrospect he should’ve seen coming; Saihara is a detective after all-- which suggests Momota didn’t tell him a thing.

And Momota is arguably closer to Saihara than he is to anyone else in the class, so it felt to Amami that if Saihara didn’t know, it would be really weird if someone else did.

  
(Of course, Amami knows, but that’s totally beside the point. It was incidental. Momota pretty much slammed the door in his face when they made eye contact. Amami isn’t going to count it.  _ Especially  _ because he doesn’t actually know what was the matter.)

Amami does briefly entertain the possibility that one of Momota’s other friends was called on while this was going on. Sometimes you need certain people for certain emotional crises, and even if Amami thinks that Saihara and Momota seem like they’re really close, that doesn’t mean Saihara is the only person Momota could potentially call on in a time of need. He doesn’t mean to act weird about it, but he does spend a good portion of the week just, watching Momota interact with people.

He chats with Toujou in the kitchen after his run, complimenting her food and her abilities and telling her she’d be a pretty good astronaut. (Toujou seems flattered, which is nice to see from the stoic maid, but Amami can simp another time, maybe.) Then he spends breakfast chatting with Akamatsu and Harukawa and Saihara-- and honestly, he acts perfectly normal through his interactions with them, and they do the same. Akamatsu asks the day he comes back to class if he’s feeling better, and he responds heartily that he is, and nobody gives him another look or meaningful glance and that’s the end of it.

Momota spends a good portion of morning and afternoon classes squabbling with Ouma, which is pretty typical. They didn’t interact much for the first few months of their first year, but then while Amami was on a trip they struck up a rivalry or something because when he came back to school they were just constantly at each other’s throats. They can be extremely entertaining, if exhausting just to listen to. Mainly empathetically, and mainly on Momota’s part, because Ouma is good at nothing if not fucking around with people, Amami notices. Momota is too hot-headed to be able to interact with him in any amicable way.

Or at least, that was what Amami concluded last year, but nowadays the way that Momota and Ouma bicker reads more to Amami as banter, if sometimes a little bit  _ heated  _ banter. Sometimes Ouma will tell a joke and Momota will look like he’s trying to swallow his own face to keep from laughing, and sometimes Momota will make a remark and Ouma’s entire expression will blank and he’ll blink, like he’s begrudgingly impressed. Amami isn’t sure he’d say they’re friends, but maybe Momota would shoot Ouma a text? If there’s anyone who’s good at lying and acting like things are exactly the same, it’s Ouma.

But if Momota and Ouma had any particularly tender interactions that day, Ouma certainly doesn’t show it, and the way Momota regards Ouma hasn’t changed a bit, either. Amami catches the exact moment that they see each other the day after Momota missed class, and Momota (who Amami deigns to watch, because he’s more transparent than Ouma is, at least comparatively) doesn’t even hesitate when he sees Ouma. His expression immediately becomes one of exasperation, and he mutters something to Saihara, who laughs slightly and gives Momota an incredulous smile.

In the afternoon, Amami understands from both messages in the groupchat and in-class interactions that Chabashira and Momota spar together. It wasn’t something that  _ anybody  _ saw coming, like, the known misandrist spending that amount of time with Momota of all people  _ voluntarily?  _ But there’s something different in the way that Momota interacts with Chabashira versus the way that he interacts with everybody else in the class, something more gentle, that makes Amami wonder if maybe they’re closer than sparring partners.

(Not-- not romantically, Amami’s brain sort of stops functioning when he pictures Chabashira, who still won’t allow herself to be alone in a room with any of the boys in the class, save for Momota in the dojo, in a relationship with a boy. Besides, he’s like, eighty percent sure both of them are gay. Not that it matters, or is any of Amami’s business, but it’s just an observation. At any rate their interactions are almost disgustingly platonic.)

Even if they do have that kind of relationship, though, Momota’s behaviour around Chabashira doesn’t exactly appear to have changed. And Chabashira is just too emotionally honest to not act different after that kind of interaction, even if Momota asked her to keep it a secret. Amami has seen Chabashira try to lie before. She’s not particularly good at it. Also, he really can’t see her deliberately trying to conceal a matter of somebody’s emotions, with how often she talks about being in touch with yourself and your feelings.

Actually, that in mind, Amami doesn’t know if Momota would even call on her in the first place.

It occurs to Amami at some point while he’s analysing Momota’s interactions with all of his friends that he might be like, stalking Momota a little bit. He’s not  _ trying  _ to, honest, it’s just that--

It just seems to Amami that Momota supports a lot of people. He’s so positive all the time, and maybe his optimism is a bit naive, at least to Amami, whose general stance on good things happening is that they probably won’t, but it’s endearing! And he can tell it helps a lot of people, too. Saihara could never look anyone at the eye back at the beginning of the school year, and Harukawa’s been beyond isolated up until a month ago, but whatever Momota has been doing to help the two of them, it’s seemed to make an impact. Someone who gives that much of himself to other people, Amami just thinks that maybe he should ask for a little bit of reciprocation every so often.

Hmmm. Amami wonders if maybe he’s being a little bit of a hypocrite. He’s pretty sure he would erupt into flames if a member of his class saw him crying. That’s pretty much the worse case scenario, in all honesty, being caught in tears. (It was bad enough when Akamatsu found him crying. Never again. Amami cries in his  _ room,  _ thanks, and nowhere else.) Maybe Momota is similar, in that he doesn’t want anyone to see his weaknesses. Though why in  _ particular  _ Momota feels like that, Amami really couldn’t… say, one way or the other, not unless he knew Momota really well, and he doesn’t. Any guesses he might make would just be speculation, really.

Unless he got to know Momota better. The thing with getting to know people, though, is that it requires… mutual vulnerability. Amami isn’t so great at vulnerability. Less because he hates people knowing he has problems, more because he knows how they’ll respond, and he just doesn’t want to hear it.

And! Being close to people means that he could  _ lose  _ them, which is not ideal. Sure, something could happen to Momota tomorrow and Amami would be pretty torn up about it, but it would be more in that regular way where you’re upset when somebody you know gets hurt. If Amami lowers his walls a little and starts actually making an effort to get to know Momota better, and then something happens to Momota, it’ll be more personal, it’ll be like losing his sisters again, and Amami doesn’t want to go through that,  _ can’t  _ go through that. After everything, it would be really stupid if Amami put himself in that position.

He is… insanely curious, though. Compelled, almost. It’s as though there’s something urging him to get closer to Momota and figure it out. Maybe this is how Saihara feels, being a detective.

But to say that it’s not at least a little bit personal, that Amami’s interest in Momota is purely that of someone looking to solve a case, would… be a lie. He’s not sure exactly what it is, either, which is a little infuriating. Amami likes having a handle on his emotions so he can repress them properly.

(That’s another joke, ha ha.)

Despite Amami’s misgivings, it’s kind of like a brain worm. He can’t stop thinking about what happened, about Momota, and eventually it’s to the point where he’s not focusing on much at all, and he has a trip in a day, so he has to do  _ something.  _ Amami’s never been the kinda guy who’s okay with just sitting around and waiting to do something on a subject, despite how laid back he tries to come off as. When he knows that something is going on, he wants to do something! It’s in his nature. And while maybe technically it’s none of his business, Amami is compelled almost out of… a desire to help. Seeing Momota upset when he’s usually so chipper was upsetting.

So the day before Amami is about to go on a flight to Bermuda, he finds Momota during the break between morning classes, sliding into the empty seat in front of him and sitting in it backwards. Momota is doodling a little pirate ship in the margin of his notes, but when he sees Amami he promptly stops and puts his pencil down, a wide smile crossing over his features. Amami notices that his wrist moves over to rest on top of the doodle, but he thinks that’s probably just incidental, and thus doesn’t pay any attention to it.

“Hey, Amami! Good to see you, you’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” Momota smiles, and Amami blinks.

“Oh, I am,” he agrees, a bit surprised. He doesn’t recall having told Momota, or the group at large-- or even Sensei, really, the only person he told about his trip was maybe Akamatsu while they were making small talk at breakfast yesterday. “How’d you know?”

“I think Akamatsu mentioned it,” Momota says with a shrug, and Amami raises his eyebrows, mildly, wondering why it even came up. (The idea of people talking about him when he’s not around makes him more uncomfortable than it should considering how used to it he should be from all the tabloids about his father, but even still.) “Whatever-- where’re you headed?”

“Hamilton-- that’s the capital of Bermuda. It’s a nice city. Buildings are colourful,” Amami smiles.  _ It’s where Koharu got lost on the beach. _

“You’ve been before?” Momota asks-- and it’s a simple question, a very simple question, actually, but Amami still bristles involuntarily, because  _ yeah,  _ he has been before, many times,  _ numerous  _ times, and there’s a specific reason for that that nobody can know, and Momota will get closer to knowing if Amami tells him. It feels weird, though, to come into the interaction with the intent of making friends and then lie about something so arbitrary just because Amami is paranoid. (He is however wondering if it’s too late for him to back out and jump on an early plane.)

“Yeah,” Amami manages to keep his tone casual, even though Momota appears to have noticed his initial reaction, because his eyes (gleaming a warm lilac in the bright lights in the classroom) narrow a little bit, brows tilting with concern. The expression vanishes a moment later, and then Momota is smiling again, nodding.

“Right on, must be a great spot if you’re going back,” Momota grins, and Amami appreciates that he’s being let off the hook, though the fact that he’s being let off the hook in the first place implies that Momota suspects something, which really isn’t Amami’s favourite, speaking generally. Whatever, though. They’ve reached an appropriate part of the conversation for Amami to change the subject. “So,” Momota prompts, before Amami can speak, “what’s up? Did you need somethin’?”

“I don’t know that I’d say I need something,” Amami chuckles, and Momota flashes him a good-natured smile, which is extremely attractive actually, but Amami puts that one to bed pretty quickly. “It’s more that I wanted to ask if I could get you a souvenir on my trip.”

“Oh?” Momota raises one of his eyebrows. “A souvenir, huh?” He seems thoughtful for a moment, then his gaze returns to Amami. “How come?”

  
Ah. “I don’t know that I have that much of a specific reason,” Amami begins, aware that he should probably just be honest about this, so that he and Momota are on the same page, “it’s more that I was hoping to talk with you more, since you seem like a cool person to be friends with.” He smiles, a bit awkwardly, and adds, “I think I’ve been in this class long enough where I should probably start branching out a little.”

Momota smiles, too, though there’s something odd in his eyes, something that Amami can’t quite read. It’s almost… no, Amami doesn’t really know how to describe it, but the look makes his chest tighten a bit, for reasons he can’t discern. “Sure,” Momota says, after a pause, “I’m down to make closer friends with you.” His smile widens, a little, into something more teasing, and Amami hums when he sees it, because he can’t quite take his mind off the strange edge in Momota’s eyes. “I’ve noticed you kinda sticking to the side a bit. Be nice to spend some time with people more.”

“Mm,” well, okay. Now it sounds like Momota is about to do this so that he can be friends with Amami, which really isn’t Amami’s intention. But it’s fine, he can just make clear that it’s not, like, some kind of favour to Amami, or whatever, as they go on. “Yeah,” he agrees, finally, and smiles again. “So! Do you have any preferences for souvenirs? I can get like, a sweatshirt, or so--”

“You don’t have to get me a souvenir, man,” Momota interrupts, and Amami blinks.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to do anything for me for this, y’know? I’m happy to be friends with you anyways,” Momota grins, reaching out and clapping Amami on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m not-- hey,” Amami chuckles, furrowing his brow a little. “I think you might’ve gotten the wrong idea. I don’t want to get you a souvenir so we’ll be friends, I want to get you a souvenir  _ because  _ we’re friends, it’s not like I’m--”

“Well, I’m saying you don’t have to, so,” Momota gives Amami a smile that is unreasonably wide considering that he just cut him off twice. “No worries! You should join my sidekicks and Akamatsu and me at lunch today, yeah? I gotta go use the restroom, but we can talk more then.” Momota starts getting to his feet.

“Wait,” Amami starts, frowning, suddenly feeling hit with a wave of deja vu, “Momota-kun, it’s not--”

“I’ll see you later, Amami,” Momota says, brightly, and before Amami can try to say anything else, he’s out of the room, and Amami is sitting in someone else’s desk, a weird knot in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kaito voice i may be stupid


	3. Chapter 3

So Amami is feeling a little bit cucked.

Just a little! Just a bit. Like, okay, he gets  _ why  _ Momota thought the whole becoming friends thing and the souvenir thing were linked-- and they  _ were,  _ just not in the order Momota thought they were-- but it’s still really frustrating! And the way he dipped from the classroom while Amami was trying to talk was admittedly not Amami’s favourite thing. In fact it’s almost as though he knew what Amami was trying to say, but took off before Amami could say it, and if that’s the case, well, then Amami really doesn’t know what to say to that.

Does Momota really not want a souvenir that badly? Why? Does he not want Amami spending money on him? Because if  _ that’s  _ the problem then that’s gonna be a huge complication when it comes to their being friends, because Amami really likes spending money on people who he likes. And it wouldn’t have been an issue before-- especially because Amami left that interaction with the cucking feeling more frustrated than he did warm towards Momota-- but then he went and had lunch with the asshole and his friends, and. Well.

There’s just, something in the way that Momota interacts that makes people feel comfortable. He noticed it earlier, watching people talk, but it’s one thing knowing this to be a fact and another thing experiencing it firsthand. Amami doesn’t do poorly in group interactions, or anything. Actually, he’d like to think that he’s pretty  _ good  _ at talking to people, both out of a place of liking to do it, and also because of how young he was when he first started attending social functions for his father. He’s well-trained in the art of socialising! But it’s one thing for Amami to do well in an interaction and another thing for him to feel comfortable, and typically? Amami doesn’t.

That’s what he was expecting to happen when he went to have lunch with Momota and his friends, but weirdly enough, it. Didn’t. Saihara and Akamatsu and Harukawa are all great, obviously, and Amami enjoys them greatly as people, but Amami had figured going into it that Momota would ask him questions about himself, and that’s pretty much his least favourite conversational topic, so he wasn’t looking forward to it. Especially because it seemed like Momota was viewing the proposed friendship through a lens of helping Amami, which was just, annoying. Still is annoying.

And Momota did ask him about himself, Amami wasn’t wrong there. But for some reason Momota didn’t ask a single question about his travels. They talked about finer hobbies, like how Amami knows a thing or two about cosmetics, and baking, which Amami hasn’t done in  _ years,  _ but apparently Momota knows how to do, and then at one point Momota talked about house plants, and a spark appeared in his lilac eyes that was, mm, extremely attractive? And Momota talks a  _ lot  _ when he’s excited about something, it was extremely endearing. As was the way how when he was done, he stopped for a minute, blinking, like he was just realising he’d gone on a rant about something, and flushed slightly, like he was embarrassed.

It was cute! Momota is a cute man. Amami wasn’t expecting someone like Momota, who exudes macho energy for miles, to have an interest in house plants, of all things, or baking. It’s tender! It’s very tender of him. Amami came out of the interaction feeling surprisingly warm about all of it, and surprisingly comfortable.

...But still cucked. When Amami goes to Bermuda, he’s almost tempted to get Momota something  _ anyway,  _ but it feels a bit weird to buy him a souvenir when he received an express request not to do that, so he refrains. That doesn’t mean Momota is safe, though. Just on  _ this  _ trip, Amami is going to play nice. If he goes to a plant store in New York, though, it’s all over for the tender space man. Amami fully intends to one shot his ass.

Amami’s trip to Bermuda is five days long, and his plane lands in Tokyo in the early morning, giving him just enough time to rent a bike and ride the ten miles back to school, dump his shit in his bedroom, take a scalding, five minute long shower, and then to rush to the classroom without eating breakfast. Amami never sleeps well on planes (especially in the wake of his failure, though he’s a bit too jet lagged right now to be sulking over Koharu, but he will be, no doubt about that) so he’s feeling pretty fucking tired as he steps into the classroom. The least he could’ve done was get some shitty airport coffee, or something, but he was kinda hoping he’d get to school in time to stop by the dining hall and get some of Toujou’s instead.

Alas. Amami will just have to sleep through morning classes. It’s okay.

The classroom, when he enters it, isn’t empty. Sensei isn’t here yet, surprisingly, but one of the desks  _ is  _ occupied; Momota’s, actually, and in fact the occupant is Momota himself, but his arms are folded on the table and his head is resting on top of them, like he’s asleep, or upset, and trying not to look it.

Biting his lip, Amami catches the door before it closes, carefully easing it shut so that he won’t startle Momota when he enters. Even as the door clicks shut, Momota doesn’t move, as though he didn’t hear it. Amami wonders if he’s sleeping.

Hesitantly, Amami makes his way across the classroom and rests his hand on the back of the seat in front of Momota’s desk, wondering if he should sit on it and let his presence become known with time, or rouse Momota and let him know that he’s here. It probably isn’t the most decent thing, to just sit here while Momota sleeps (or whatever this is), but. Even as Amami extends a hand, his fingers pause before they make contact with Momota’s shoulder.

There’s something about seeing him like this, so quiet, his shoulders shaking just the slightest bit with every inhalation, that makes Amami feel… off-balance. Momota’s hair is gelled up, but a bit messy. The jacket of his uniform is wrinkled all over, not just on the sleeves. Amami can’t see any part of his face at all, but idly, he wonders what expression Momota is making under there, whether his features are smooth and vulnerable with sleep or… something else.

It’s unfamiliar, seeing Momota so quiet. Even when Amami saw him at the door to his room at the very beginning of October, there was still something conversational, about him, if… fragile. Right now, it’s as though that fragility was upped by a hundred; like with one push, Momota could just, break, and Amami would be left here in an empty classroom to nurse the pieces. Momota is so loud most of the time, so bright and positive and happy, this feels almost jarring, seeing him this way, his shoulders almost curled around his ears, like he’s trying to protect himself from something, even as he might be sleeping.

In the silence, it occurs to Amami that maybe Momota keeps this hidden intentionally, specifically so that people will associate him with that radiant positivity all the time, so that they’re think about him and feel assured, so that they’ll speak to him and feel comfortable. The way he behaved when Amami asked to be friends, it was as though Amami was just another person who Momota was supposed to help, another way to… push this, whatever this is, into the background, and focus on being energetic Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars. He’s so happy when he interacts with all of his friends, and Amami can tell that he helps them so much, but… Amami wonders if maybe he kind of prefers it this way, not getting helped. Just. Drifting.

Amami has been standing here, watching Momota, for far too long. He rests his hand on the desk, instead, beside the other boy, and clears his throat. “Momota-kun,” he speaks, softly, but loud enough to be heard, “are you doing okay?”

The reaction is immediate; Momota springs upright, one of his arms shooting to cover his eyes, the other bracing himself on the desk, and Amami feels his brow wrinkling as he watches Momota run his sleeve down his face, and then lower his arm to his side. His eyes aren’t puffy, exactly, not in the way that they were in the beginning of October, but there’s a bit of moisture on his face, near his eyes, that his sleeve must have missed. Amami feels that he should ignore it, but he can’t quite bring himself to.

There’s a short, tense silence, wherein Momota looks at Amami, his expression unreadable but oddly disarmed, and Amami looks right back, trying to figure out what to say, how to put Momota at ease, explain that it’s fine, Amami won’t look, he can just, go back to what he was doing, if he needs to. Before he can find he words, Momota’s expression closes up, and a sheepish smile appears on his face, and his gaze avert itself.

“Hey, Amami,” Momota chuckles a little, and Amami bites the inside of his cheek. “How long have you been there? Didn’t notice you come in, my bad.”

Too long. “Not long,” Amami says, frowning, his brow furrowing. “You good? You seem pretty tired.”

“Bit of a headache,” Momota admits, laughing a bit louder, and then wincing-- so maybe that one’s not a lie. But Amami has a hard time believing that the headache is the only problem. “I might go back to my room and lie down, honestly. Miss out on morning classes. Dunno if I can handle Ouma right now.”

“Uhm--” Amami pauses, as Momota starts to get up, and they make eye contact again, Momota meeting his hesitation with a mild eyebrow raise. “Are you sure you’re, okay? I know you were sick a couple weeks ago, do you want some help, maybe? I can walk you back to your room, or we can--”

“I’m good, Amami,” Momota says, and his tone is just a bit sharp. Amami doesn’t flinch (he’s not the type to flinch) but he does frown, giving Momota a skeptical look. “Really, I’m  _ fine,”  _ Momota insists, gathering his notebooks under his arm, giving Amami a broad smile, as though to prove his point. It doesn’t really touch his eyes, though. “I’m just gonna sleep it off, and then I’ll be all better. I’ll see you in afternoon classes!”

Amami watches him go, wanting to protest, wanting to stop him, because this is the third time this has happened and it’s so frustrating that Momota won’t just stop moving for a  _ second,  _ but for some reason, Amami doesn’t say a word. Not until Momota reaches the door, turning to look at him.

“Oh, uh,” Momota smiles a little, “sorry for making you worry. Didn’t mean to do that. That’s my bad, too, y’know?”

“You shouldn’t have to apologise for that,” Amami says in a low voice, crossing his arms. “Not even for a second.”

Momota doesn’t appear to know what to say to that. He’s quiet, for a moment, just standing there, and then he turns and slips out the door, his footsteps fading down the hall. At the same time, Gonta enters the classroom, accompanied by Toujou, and the two of them pause after walking in; Toujou sticks her head out the door to peer after Momota.

“Uhm,” Gonta frowns a little, shuffling on his feet. “Is Momota-kun okay?”

“He’s fine,” Amami says, a little bitterly. He can’t make himself meet Gonta’s eyes, so he doesn’t bother trying. Instead he just shifts over to get his seat, dumping his belongings. “He just has a headache.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amami cries asmr


	4. Chapter 4

Amami is kind of expecting to be avoided after that.

He spends the rest of the class period a bit confused, but mostly frustrated, trying to figure out what on earth could be wrong with Momota. The guy doesn’t let on that anything is wrong, is the thing, especially when there are other people around. It’s only been in the times when Momota  _ hasn’t  _ known Amami was there that he’s… well, Amami hesitates to say that he let his guard down; that one implies agency. It’s more like the second there isn’t anybody there to see him, Momota lets himself break, just a fraction.

Which is… sad, it’s really sad. Amami supposes that he might be the same way, bottling everything up and then spilling it out only when there’s nobody there to see him, but he doesn’t actually have enough  _ friends  _ for that, so… there’s no real way of knowing. He sure wasn’t having any breakdowns in front of his little sisters when he was younger, though, if he could help it.

(Unless they were getting lost, but that’s not really the point. Amami couldn’t  _ help  _ it, then.)

Momota returns to class the next day, despite saying that he’d be back for morning classes, and he’s honestly as chipper as ever, all things considered. All sunshiney and friendly. He claps Amami on the back when they see each other (and damn if Momota doesn’t have warm hands) but doesn’t quite meet his eye, which tells Amami about as much as he needs to know. Momota isn’t going to avoid him in a way that could inform other people that something is wrong. But he won’t give Amami the opportunity to ask about it.

It’s, fine? Like, it isn’t  _ really  _ fine, in that it really sucks that Momota is trying so hard to isolate himself, and it really sucks that Momota won’t just let somebody help him, but it’s not Amami’s business, is what Amami means here when he says that it’s fine. He doesn’t even know why he’s still pushing so hard, or why he feels so genuinely frustrated about it. It’s not like he and Momota spend a surplus of time together, aside from Amami now sitting at his table during mealtimes. There’s just something about the idea of Momota Kaito not letting other people take care of them that makes Amami upset.

Maybe Amami is just looking for someone to take care of, against his better judgement. Maybe, despite knowing that getting close to people can only mean bad things for both them and Amami, he wants to be close enough to Momota to help him. Maybe Amami is just lonely.

...Well. Amami knows that he’s lonely. But it’s not like he doesn’t deserve that for losing all of his sisters.

Momota doesn’t deserve it, though. The way he interacts with other people always feels so organic and open, but it’s not really worth anything at all if he’s not taking time for himself once in a while. Amami doesn’t necessarily believe that he’s the person who’s going to solve Momota’s problems, but he does want to at least get a sense of what this particular problem is. If not so that he can comfort Momota over it, then so that he can ask somebody else to.

At lunch the following day, Momota launches off on some story about how a burglar broke into his grandparents’ house while he was baking and he had to fend them off with a spatula. Amami is like, at least ninety percent sure that the whole thing is fictional, but it’s funny, and Momota’s excitement while he tells stories is contagious. His eyes get all lit up and he makes wild gestures with his hands, and Amami finds himself smiling fondly without really thinking about it, because Momota’s enthusiasm is so incredibly endearing. It’s definitely nicer sitting here and listening to these tales than sitting alone in the corner of the dining hall.

Not that Amami particularly minds doing  _ that  _ all that much, but hey, y’know. Count your blessings and all.

There is one thing about the story that catches Amami’s attention, though.

“You can bake, Momota-kun?” Amami asks, resting an elbow on the table. Akamatsu swats at it, and he chuckles, obligingly removing his arm. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

“‘Course I can,” Momota huffs, giving Amami an indignant look. (He went back to meeting Amami’s gaze sometime around dinner last night.) Amami finds himself grinning slightly at the expression. “I wouldn’t make somethin’ like  _ that  _ up for a dumb story,” he picks at one of the disposible chopsticks he’s been using, peeling off a strip of wood. (He could get splinters that way, Amami hopes he’ll be careful.) “What about you?”

“Hm?” Amami raises his eyebrows, mildly. “Sure, I can bake. Haven’t done it in a while, though.” Not since before that Europe trip, when Kasumi and Mahoko and Tsubaki and Satsuki were lost all at once. The thought makes a bitter taste enter Amami’s mouth, so he grabs his juice and drinks from it, swallowing twice before he speaks again. “You any good?”

“I’m extremely good,” Momota scoffs. He grins, though. “Why? Win any awards?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that,” Amami chuckles, but finds himself matching Momota’s grin, because once again the man’s enthusiasm is infectious, “but I’m not too shabby, if I can still remember how to do any of it.”

Momota laughs. “I can’t just hear you say that and not see you bake,” he leans over, across the table, and raises his eyebrows a little bit. Amami leans in in kind, making eye contact with Momota. He has pretty eyes. Like a warm lilac colour. And his eyelashes are really thick, thicker than you’d think at first glance. “If you’re not busy after class today, you should come meet me in the kitchen. Figure out if you’re still worth shit in the kitchen.”

Uh, hello? Quality alone time with Momota? Amami has literally been begging for this. “Oh, you’re so on,” Amami grins wider, picking up a grape off his plate and tossing it at Momota. It bounces off his forehead, and he blinks before laughing again. “Don’t count me out just because I haven’t baked in a while, man. You might be surprised.”

“I’m betting on it,” Momota smiles. Hmm. The expression makes Amami’s chest warm, a little. It’s nice seeing him smile like that, with his eyes all crinkly.

Decidedly, Amami isn’t going to drill Momota during the baking session. He’s happy enough for the opportunity to try and get closer to the guy. He wouldn’t want to blow it by bringing up whatever it is that’s been bothering Momota and making him run off. Amami will just have to get to the point where he can ask without Momota slipping away, is all. It sounds difficult, even conceptually, though. Momota’s kind of like an eel, emotions-wide. Slippery. It makes Amami a little nervous.

He just won’t bring it up, today. It’ll be all good.

When Amami arrives at the kitchen, Momota is preheating the oven, and it seems as though he’s already greased and lined two pans for the oven. Amami lets out an appreciative hum, his eyes sweeping over all the ingredients laid out on the counter. “Brownies?” he guesses, raising his eyebrows a little bit.

“Oh, Amami!” Momota beams at him, and Amami finds himself smiling without meaning to as he watches Momota straighten up. That’s a nice smile. Amami can’t remember the last time someone brightened like that upon seeing him. it’s a good feeling. “Good eye! Maybe you’ve still got it,” he grins, winking. Amami finds himself laughing at that.

  
“Well, I’ve made brownies a fair few times in my baking experience, I don’t know if that makes me an expert or anything,” Amami is still chuckling as he rolls up his sleeves and walks over to the sink, turning it on with his wrist. His eyes catch on something red on the counter, and he squints, his brow furrowing. “Hey, Momota-kun, I’m not questioning your methods here, but what’s with the hot sauce?” He begins lathering up with soap as he speaks, gaze fixated on the bottle, though he does see Momota turn around in his peripheral. “Are we making these brownies for Ouma-kun?”

Momota bursts into loud laughter. “Nah, I wouldn’t stoop to his level like that, I--” he starts laughing again, for a moment, and Amami peeks over, watching him go. He has a really full laugh, warm. It’s comforting to hear, even if Amami wasn’t exactly trying to be funny with his question. (Maybe the Ouma part, but definitely not the hot sauce bit. He’s still holding out for an explanation on that one, to be honest.) “Adding a drop of hot sauce enhances the chocolate flavour,” Momota explains, once he’s calmed down. He’s still grinning over at Amami, though. “Trust me, it’s good. Not like I’m pouring out a bottle of Frank’s.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Amami says, turning off the sink. “You’re the expert here, boss.” He squints for a moment at the dish rag hanging off the oven, until Momota tosses him a clean hand towel, and he uses it to dry his hands, turning his gaze to Momota. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Well,” Momota sounds pleased, maybe because Amami passed him the buck, “I think I’ll take wet ingredients, and you can take dries. Unless you prefer it the other way?”

“Nah, nah, I’m good,” Amami grins, waving a hand. “I’ll go for the dry ingredients. You have two pans laid out there. Making a lot of brownies, huh?”

“Doubled the recipe,” Momota shrugs, moving over to the stove, presumably to melt the butter. “So you’re using two thirds of a cup of cocoa, a cup of flour, and half a teaspoon of salt.”

Amami hums, to let Momota know that the information has been received, and picks up one of the big bowls on the counter to start adding in ingredients. As he does so, idly whisking, he watches Momota work, melting the butter and then turning off the stove to add in sugar, and eggs. Amami finds himself grinning. “Oh, so you’re a one-handed cracker, huh?”

“Hm?” Momota looks over his shoulder, and smiles. “Oh, yeah, that’s how my mom used to do it.” He averts his gaze pretty quickly after that, and Amami thinks,  _ used to do it?  _ but decides not to ask. Momota’s shoulders seem a bit tense. Amami wonders if he actually meant to say that, or if it just slipped out.

At any rate, Amami knows how it feels to lose people, and he would hate for Momota to latch onto some detail about his sisters, so he’ll leave it alone. “Well, I’m extremely impressed,” Amami says, genuinely, whisking in the baking powder. “I think there’s very few things sexier than a guy who can crack eggs one-handed.”

Momota laughs again, sounding surprised, and Amami grins. Thank god. “I didn’t know you had a type for bakers, Amami,” Momota says, through light giggles, and Amami’s smile broadens. He’d been expecting a  _ you’re gay?  _ and the fact that Momota didn’t say that is pleasing to him, both because he’s not so fond of incredulity in regards to his sexuality, and also because Momota’s casual acceptance of the fact means  _ good  _ things, for whether or not Momota might also swing that way. (Not that… Amami needs to care about that one all that much, that’s not even why he’s here, and Amami doesn’t have time for that kind of thing anyway, but… it’s a thought. And it would be a loss for the gays if Momota was straight. That’s all.)

“Why wouldn’t I? I have pretty good taste, y’know,” Amami huffs, feigning indignance, which makes Momota laugh again, and it’s not like Amami is counting or anything, but every laugh he gets out of Momota is another victory for the gays. “I’m almost done with these dries, by the way.”

“Hell yeah,” Momota turns his head to grin at Amami. “One second, I’m gonna add in the vanilla.” As he does so, Amami watches him tilt his head back and sprinkle a couple drops of vanilla extract  _ onto his tongue,  _ which makes Amami sputter with laughter.

“Excuse me?” Amami manages to choke out, putting the bowl of dry ingredients down so he won’t drop it. “Momota-kun, are you a gremlin? Have you been in disguise as a person this whole time? Because I refuse to believe that I just watched you eat vanilla extract.”

Huffing, Momota says, “Well, you better  _ start  _ believing it, because vanilla extract is good,” and as though to prove his point, he eats a little bit more, and Amami wheezes, putting a hand on the counter to steady himself.

  
“Stop, stop, I’m already dead,” he giggles, shaking his head. “Why? Doesn’t it taste terrible?”

“Do you have taste buds, Amami?” Momota asks, indignantly, moving over to get the bowl that Amami put down.

_ “Yes,”  _ Amami sputters, “which is why I don’t eat  _ vanilla extract,”  _ and he giggles again into his hand, shaking his head. When he straightens up again, getting his breathing under control, he sees that the indignant expression has melted off of Momota’s face. He’s smiling, now, slightly, looking at Amami. There’s something unreadable in his eyes. A kind of softness that Amami isn’t really used to seeing directed at him. It doesn’t fluster him (Amami doesn’t fluster easily) but it makes him pause, makes his chest tighten a little bit. There’s a sort of vulnerability about that, too. Momota’s sort of a brash person. It’s not the kind of look Amami would associate with him. It’s nice, though. Nice to see.

Then he blinks, and Momota has turned around to start mixing the dry ingredients into the wets. Amami takes a moment to regain his composure (when did he ever lose it?) before picking the bag of chocolate chips up off the counter and walking over to join Momota by the stove. 

Momota works well with a spatula, Amami notices, as he leans his back against the counter, his shoulder close enough to brush against Momota’s if he shifted just an inch to the right. Momota’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Amami can see the way the muscles in Momota’s forearms flex as he folds the batter.

...Hmm. That’s decidedly more gay than Amami should be feeling about all of this. He turns his gaze from Momota’s arms (hoo) to the actual batter, shifting the bag of chocolate chips in his hands. After a while, Momota shrugs one of his shoulders, eyes flitting to Amami, his eyebrows quirking. Amami takes that as an invitation to start pouring in chocolate chips, carefully, so that Momota can properly integrate them into the mixture. There comes a point, after a while of going back and forth, that Amami wonders how many chocolate chips they’re actually going to be adding to this thing, because Momota sure isn’t stopping him.

“Uh,” Amami eyes the bag. There are plenty of chocolate chips left, but the number sure is waning. “Momota-kun, are you planning on stopping me anytime soon?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that should be about good,” Momota chuckles distractedly, so Amami clips the bag shut and puts it to the side, but his brain catches on Momota’s tone. Hmm. He lifts his gaze, now, folding his arms across his chest and trying to read Momota’s expression. He definitely seems to be thinking about something. His eyes are still fixed on his task, but there’s an odd quality to them, almost… well, Amami feels like dreamy would be the wrong word, but he definitely doesn’t seem to be all here. Mmmm.

Amami leans forward to bump his shoulder against Momota’s, smiling slightly. “Hey, something on your mind?”

Immediately, Momota’s gaze flickers up to Amami, and he pauses with the spatula, his brows raising. “Oh, uh, not really,” he looks back down again, doing a few more passes, before putting down the bowl. Amami watches him cross the kitchen to get the pans. “Just… it’s been a while since I’ve done this, ‘s all.”

“Yeah? Me too,” Amami smiles again, accepting one of the pans from Momota when he offers it, pushing himself off of the counter and turning around to start pouring the batter. He’ll go first with this part, since Momota handled all the mixing. “You already know that, of course, I think that’s part of the reason why we’re here, but,” he glances at Momota in time to catch the little chuckle he lets out, and then pretends it doesn’t sound pensive, “I can relate, is all. Can you remember the last time you baked?”

“It wasn’t all that long ago, I meant more that--” Momota cuts off, and Amami wants to turn and look over at him again, but after a moment of thought on the subject, he decides to just keep his gaze on the batter. Momota sounds hesitant, almost, and Amami doesn’t want to scare him off from saying whatever it is that’s on his mind. He just focuses on using the spatula to spread the batter. “Uh. I don’t really know what I was going to say.”

Damn it. Amami doesn’t believe that. “No worries,” he dismisses, despite himself, looking up and giving Momota a reassuring smile. He passes over the bowl and spatula when he’s done, for Momota to spread the batter in his own pan. Momota seems grateful for the distraction. He hops to it immediately. “I do that a lot. Start a thought and then don’t know how to finish it.”

“Yeah,” Momota lets out another one of those pensive sounding chuckles, and Amami feels, in equal measure, both frustrated and sad. He  _ knows  _ that he and Momota aren’t that close, damnit, but it sucks hearing Momota sound so bothered and then not say anything about it. Amami almost wonders if he even  _ wants  _ to be hiding it, if he genuinely wants Amami to back off, or if he’s just keeping this stuff to himself out of a sense of obligation.

Because god if Amami hasn’t wanted to open up to some of the people at this school. Even if he knows that he can’t, couldn’t take the disappointment yet another time, he still  _ wants  _ Akamatsu to know about his sisters, wants to not be alone anymore, wants to take the chance that maybe (just maybe!) someone could know about all the shitty things he’s done and want to be around him anyway. It’s selfish to feel like that, to think that he might actually deserve someone’s time and care, but Amami still does it sometimes, and it would make sense if Momota did to… even if Momota is the kind of person who would  _ actually  _ deserve it, regardless of… whatever his head might be telling him.

(Or maybe Amami is just projecting, because he’s desperate for someone who might understand, who might be similar to him. Maybe nothing is wrong with Momota, and he just… wants to be less alone, for once.

Is that really so terrible?)

Amami ponders this as Momota sticks both of the pans in the oven, and subsequently as they both start tidying up the kitchen. While Momota cleans the dishes, Amami returns all the ingredients they used back to their places; the eggs and butter to the fridge, the flour and sugar to the cabinet, the like. As Momota closes the dishwasher and turns on the sink to rinse off his hands, Amami leans himself against the counter opposite the oven, watching the timer tick down for a moment. Then he speaks.

“Momota-kun, you live with your grandparents, right?”

To say that Momota bristles would be an understatement. He turns around from the sink, too quickly, one of his hands scrambling to turn off the tap and the other bracing himself on the counter, his eyes widening and then relaxing almost forcefully. Amami feels guilty, at once, but there’s also a small part of him that goes  _ ah,  _ because there’s no way Momota would react like that if Amami hadn’t just hit on… whatever was just bothering him.

Mmm, though. “You don’t have to talk about it if you wouldn’t like to,” Amami says, with a small smile, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I honestly didn’t mean to pry, I was just curious, because you talk about your grandparents a lot and I think today was the first time I heard you mention one of your parents.”

“It’s fine,” Momota replies, slowly, in a tone of voice that makes Amami think it isn’t really fine. “Yeah, I do. Uh,” he furrows his brow, slowly relaxing his shoulders (which had tensed up when he bristled) and reaching for a hand towel to dry his hands. He seems to be considering saying something. After a while, he continues, “Since I was eight, actually. Been living with them since then.”

Well, now, Amami isn’t sure how to proceed from here. He desperately wants to ask,  _ How come? What happened to your parents?  _ but if Amami accidentally mentioned having sisters in the past tense, and then someone (even Momota) asked him why he spoke of them that way, he would book it. He would run. Metaphorically, literally, either. He would hop on a plane to San Francisco and block their number and never think about it again. Or try not to, at least. Whatever the case, he figures that wouldn’t be the right question in this instance, so instead he asks, “What are they like?”

Momota raises his eyebrows. He was probably expecting Amami to ask what happened to his parents. “Uh, well,” Momota rubs the back of his neck, mirroring Amami’s posture (it reminds Amami to lower his hand to his side), his gaze shifting to the ceiling. “They’re nice. They’re great, actually, I really love them. Always been really supportive of my bein’ an astronaut and stuff. Which is cool, seeing as I kinda busted in illegally, y’know?” He chuckles, and Amami smiles, tilting his head to the side a bit. He’s heard the story, about Momota forging illegal documents to become a member of JAXA, but hearing Momota say as much so casually is something different.

Being gay, however, Amami has always been fond of a little bit of crime. “That’s good, I’m glad for that,” Amami says, warmer than he means to. Momota meets his gaze, now, and Amami swallows down the urge to pull his own away as he speaks. “It’s good that your family is supportive of your goals. That’s… important. Not the kind of thing you can easily go without.”

“Speaking from experience?” Momota smiles, slightly, and Amami thinks,  _ fuck.  _ This is what he meant by the whole mutual vulnerability thing. When you’d like somebody to open up to you you can’t just go into it without expecting to share a few cards from your own hand. And there’s genuinely nothing in the world Amami would like less than to tell Momota about his sisters, even if it is lonely being the only person at this school who knows, sometimes. Amami doesn’t want Momota  _ specifically  _ to know about his sisters, he doesn’t want Momota to know that he’s a screw-up of an older brother who takes and takes and takes and destroys everything he touches. He really couldn’t stand it if Momota knew that.

And yet… “Yeah,” Amami breathes out, and  _ now  _ he averts his gaze, looking at the oven, watching the brownies bake. “I am,” he adds, as if that weren’t already obvious from the confirmation just now. Momota doesn’t speak, and the silence is a touch oppressive, so Amami finds himself saying more, just to fill it, just so that the quiet won’t settle in. “It’s-- I mean, it’s fine, in my case, I’m pretty good at being self-sufficient, y’know?” He chuckles, a little, for the sake of it, and Momota’s smile is a little bit sad, and he doesn’t chuckle back, and it makes Amami’s head feel odd and fuzzy and not in a good way, really, not at all. “I’m really not the kinda guy who needs a lot of support.”

“Helps to have, though,” Momota says quietly, looking at Amami in a… strange, way, one that makes Amami feel sort of choked up, just a little, such that he needs to put a hand on the counter and steady himself. Momota’s voice is  _ tender,  _ and that’s just unfair. He doesn’t have any business looking at Amami like that when he doesn’t understand  _ why  _ Amami doesn’t have the support, how he doesn’t deserve it, how he lost everyone he loved and isn’t even competent enough to get them back. “But y’know,” Momota smiles, again, wider now, his eyes sparking a bit, “just because you don’t have that kinda support back home doesn’t mean you don’t have it here, yeah?”

“Huh?” Amami’s voice sounds, involuntarily, kind of strangled, and it doesn’t really get better when Momota reaches over and claps him on the shoulder.

“We’re friends, right?” Momota grins. “You’ve got Akamatsu and Saihara backing you up, if you need! I’m sure Harumaki would have your back, too, even if she’d threaten to kill you while doing it. And of course there’s the biggest asset, which is the Luminary of the Stars, but that one’s a given,” and there, Momota winks, and Amami breathes out, feeling a lump rise in his throat. Momota’s hand is warm on his shoulder. “Even if you don’t need a whole bunch of support you’re still gonna get it, man.”

_ I don’t deserve that,  _ Amami thinks. And then he bites it back. (He doesn’t know why he bites it back. Momota deserves to know.) This isn’t even why he’s  _ here,  _ to be another one of those people who Momota spends all his time holding up, that’s not the point, the  _ point  _ was to figure out what’s wrong and try and see if he could help Momota in any way, not… nnnn. “Thank you, Momota-kun,” Amami says, softly. “I really appreciate that.” He meets Momota’s eyes for a moment, and finds himself momentarily taken aback by how  _ sincere  _ he looks, his smile unwavering.

Mmmmm.

“The same goes for you, y’know?” Amami smiles, too, lifting a hand to rest it on top of Momota’s, where it’s still resting on his shoulder. It’s even warmer underneath Amami’s palm than it is through his shirt, and Amami can see Momota’s eyes widening just a fraction at the touch. “Akamatsu-san and Saihara-kun and Harukawa-san are there to support you, too, and so am I.”

“Thanks, man!” Momota says, brightly, his grin widening. “That’s a nice thing to--”

“I mean it,” Amami cuts him off, his voice a bit lowered, his brow furrowing. Momota stops, his own brows raising, his head tilting to the side.

“Huh?”

“I mean I’m here to support you, Momota-kun,” Amami says, and against his better judgement, he keeps talking. “I feel like there’s been something going on with you this month, and you don’t have to tell me anything-- I know I don’t seem like the most trustworthy-- but I hope you know that you  _ can  _ rely on the people around you. They care about you a lot, y’know? You clearly help your friends so much and I want you to understand that you can ask for their support if you need it. I’m sure anybody would be willing to give it to you.  _ I  _ would be willing to give it to you.”

Momota blinks at him, and there’s a moment of silence, a long, tense moment of silence, wherein Momota’s brow furrows and his lips press together, and Amami feels his heart crawling up into his throat, pounding heavily. There’s an indecipherable look in Momota’s lilac eyes, and it is, as previously stated,  _ indecipherable,  _ but from it, Amami almost thinks that… maybe Momota is  _ going _ to open up to him, tell him what’s wrong, just let his goddamn guard down for a fraction of a second, maybe--

The timer on the oven goes off, indicating that the brownies are done baking, and Amami and Momota both snap out of it.

Suddenly the moment is over, and Momota is already moving away, picking up an oven mitt and a toothpick and opening it up. Amami opens and closes his mouth, feeling his voice dry up in his throat.  _ Damn. Damn it.  _ Momota hasn’t said anything yet, but somehow he already knows, before Momota even turns around, what the answer is going to be.

His stomach feels tight, all of a sudden, heavy. And Amami wants to cry, a little bit, but he can’t do that in front of Momota.

Momota straightens himself out. “Brownies are done,” he says, turning to Amami with a grin, and Amami finds it in himself to smile, too, because he’s good at that, at smiling, no matter how much he really doesn’t want to be. It’s so fucking unfair. “And thanks, Amami, I’ll keep that in mind. If I ever do need support, y’know?” Momota winks. “The Luminary of the Stars has got it handled for now, though.”

_ You’re full of shit,  _ Amami thinks, bitterly. He keeps smiling, though, he just keeps smiling. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says.

And after packing up all the brownies and cleaning up the rest of the kitchen, Amami books a flight to San Francisco and is gone within the hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rantaro hops on a flight to another country compilation


	5. Chapter 5

Finding Mina in San Francisco is  _ woefully _ unsuccessful this time around, and by day three Amami is decently certain he’s not going to get any results worth shit, but that doesn’t stop him from staying in San Francisco a full week regardless.

It’s not a very good week off, though, Amami will have to be honest. He sleeps maybe a total of fourteen hours throughout the entire course of the time he’s in America and spends the time he’s not sleeping or eating looking around the city, regardless of the time of day. It’s not one of his best calls, to be sure, but every time he tries to sit down and just relax, he gets antsy all over again. Both because he’s back in San Francisco and he has not yet located Mina, and also because of the situation with Momota.

Admittedly, (horribly,) this time, Amami’s general antsiness is probably more accounted to the situation with Momota.

It’s just frustrating! It’s frustrating because he had been so  _ close,  _ it had really seemed like Momota was actually going to let it go and fucking talk to him, and then the timer went off and it was like he just remembered some  _ self-imposed guideline  _ or whatever the fuck telling him that he’s not allowed to communicate to anybody how he actually feels. Because god forbid the Luminary of the Stars actually has feelings, actually has things that bother him, nah, he has to be the hero all the time, he has to be strong.

And Amami gets it! He gets it, he understands, he understands that being vulnerable is hard, he’s terrible at it, but at least he’s trying! And maybe he’s trying in the sense that he only believes Momota will be vulnerable with him if he’s vulnerable first, but he’s still doing that!

Of course, knowing the kind of person that Momota is, maybe that was a bad call to begin with. Someone who gives so much of himself to other people will automatically drop everything if he thinks for a  _ second  _ that something is wrong with the person that he’s interacting with. It’s infuriating, and in no small part is Amami pissed, he just wants to take the asshole by the shoulders and shake him, demanding some kind of goddamn accountability, but that wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair because Amami gets it, he  _ does, _ and instead of calling him out and pushing harder, he put a smile on his face and booked a flight and his phone has been on  _ do not disturb  _ for the past week he’s been on San Francisco.

Because the thing is, as aggravating as it is, the way that Momota dodges his own emotions, at least he finds a way to stick around and keep moving with them. The dude’s like an emotional eel in that way, fucking slippery, like every time Amami manages to get some kind of grip on him he just wiggles his way out and leaps back into the water. But at least he sticks around! Amami has never been able to stick around for a second in his life, even before his youngest sister Kikuko was lost in the Philippines, he could never stay in one place, never keep his cool in uncomfortable situations.

Or he  _ can,  _ for a little while, he can deal with ickiness, it’s how he’s able to deal with his father’s business whenever Amami Sr. calls upon him, but the second it’s over Amami is running, because that’s all he’s good at, running away, and he doesn’t even know how to improve, how to make it better.

No wonder Momota won’t open up to him. Amami wouldn’t open up to him. If he wasn’t himself, there would be no way he would let Amami Rantaro know a single one of his secrets. Just not the trustworthy kind of guy.

_ Ugh,  _ though. Amami can’t remember the last time he felt this shitty about another person. And it’s not even Momota’s fault. Even if he’s going about it in all the worst, most infuriating ways, he’s still going through some shit. And of course he doesn’t have to tell Amami anything, Amami is just some guy who couldn’t keep a hold on even  _ one  _ of his sisters. Not that Momota knows that, but even without knowing that, it’s obvious Amami isn’t dependable. That’s just a fact of life and one that Amami is going to have to get used to.

Amami just wishes that Momota would tell  _ somebody,  _ that’s all, because he deserves that, space, support, some kind of comfort. It sucks seeing him just pull away from everybody like that, and continue to put his everything into helping people despite whatever it is that’s been weighing on him over the course of the past three weeks. Maybe he should just suck it up and tell Akamatsu that something’s going on with the guy. If anybody would know what to do, she would. Amami just can’t bring himself to drag somebody else into the situation. It isn’t so much that he specifically wants to be the person who Momota confides in (he doesn’t think; that would be  _ really  _ selfish of him considering the kind of person that he is) it’s just… it doesn’t feel right divulging Momota’s shit. That’s all.

He finally brings himself to check his phone on the train ride back to Hope’s Peak, mainly for something to distract himself from the mid-afternoon rush. Amami really hates taking the train, but he feels a bit dizzy (probably from sleep deprivation) and just generally like shit and that’s not really the best state to be in riding a bike for ten miles. So. The train.

There are several texts from Akamatsu, none of which he opens at the moment, and a couple from Toujou, (with notes about the homework, god bless,) and a handful of memes from Ouma, but only one from Momota, sent a couple days ago.

It reads,

_ [Hey, man! Know when you’ll be back from your trip?] _

...Mmm. Amami almost wishes he had opened it and replied when it was sent. Ghosting Amami really doesn’t feel like the  _ move,  _ here, when he wants the guy to open up to him. (If he hasn’t given up on that, by now.) Still, out of a lack of things to do, Amami types out a reply, and shoots it Momota’s way.

_ [oh, I didn’t see this, sorry, Momota-kun. I’m on the train back now. should be at the school in about six minutes or so.] _

Momota’s text comes in remarkably quickly considering that afternoon classes won’t be done for another couple hours.

_ [Hey! Good to hear] _

_ [How was it? See anything new?] _

Amami almost laughs. He never sees anything new on his trips anymore, save for business ventures and false leads, and neither of those are anything to write home about.

_ [haha, not this time. revisiting an old location] _

It’s not a lie. Amami doesn’t need to add on  _ for the umpteenth time,  _ even if that would be the most honest thing. Momota didn’t ask. Momota doesn’t need to know. Momota can’t know, actually.

_ [Well, there’s a benefit in doing it that way, too! Did you have fun?] _

No. Of course Amami didn’t have fun. He never has fun on his trips. He doesn’t  _ go  _ to have fun. And he couldn’t have had fun this time, not after that interaction with Momota in the kitchen.

_ [I guess so. the whole week is a bit of a blur for me right now, haha.] _

...Amami doesn’t know why he said that.

_ [Oh. Anything you want to talk about?] _

Amami stares at that text until his eyes cross, pretending like the answer isn’t a strong yes, pretending like he doesn’t wish he could walk into the classroom right now and put himself into Momota’s arms and dissolve a little bit on the breeze, fade away, sleep forever. He’s so  _ tired,  _ and frustrated, and tired of being frustrated. He knows it’s selfish to want to indulge in the comfort that Momota offers, that he gives to everyone else, but he can’t help it, Amami is selfish, that’s just… a fact, of life. Why he won’t quit. Why he can’t quit, no matter how much he’s been told to, no matter how much he selfishly wants to listen.

_ [I’ll text you later, Momota-kun, the train just reached the station] _

He puts his phone away, ignoring the way it vibrates in his pocket, and swings his backpack back over his shoulder, climbing off at the stop and blinking back the burn in his eyes.

The walk back to the school from the train station is short, short enough that it’s as though Amami blinks and then he’s unlatching the gate, and then he blinks and he’s entering the dorms, and then he blinks and he’s standing on front of his door, swinging his backpack over onto his knee and digging around in the top pocket for his room key. He feels floaty and sad and unreal, and the desire to burrow into the pillows back at his father’s manor is strong--

\--only he doesn’t want to be at the manor as it is now, he wants to be there with Kikuko tucked up against him, fast asleep, he wants to be there with Rui reading in the corner of the room and Aki and Kei watching anime in the next room over and Maemi giving Satsuki piggyback rides up and down the stairs, he just doesn’t want to be alone like this, wearing himself thin over and over again because it’s all he knows how to do, work and run, and Rantaro really--

“Amami, hey.”

Rantaro drops his key, because his hands are shaking too bad, and then his backpack slips out of his grasp and onto the floor, right on top of it, and Rantaro knows he should bend down and pick it up, but he feels as though if he leans down right now, sinks down to his knees, he won’t be able to pull himself onto his feet again. He wants to collapse to the floor and melt into it, just stop  _ existing  _ for a moment, make his brain stop running, think about something, anything other than this.

“Amami?”

God, Momota is standing behind him, isn’t he? Rantaro isn’t sure if that’s really him he’s hearing, really Momota’s voice, or if he’s so exhausted he’s just imagining it. But why would Momota be here? He’s supposed to be in class. What’s the alternative? He came here for Rantaro? Nobody should come here for Rantaro, Rantaro isn’t worth that, all Rantaro does is break things, it’s all he can do, that and running, and--

“Amami,  _ look at me,”  _ and then there’s hands on his shoulders and he’s being turned around, and Rantaro is too tired, just too tired, to resist it, especially when Momota’s hands are so warm and his eyes (when Rantaro can see them) are worried, almost urgent, and his brow is creased in concern, and Rantaro really, desperately wants to cry, but there’s a part of him that insists that he can’t, that he can’t, for reasons that he can’t remember anymore, that he doesn’t care to. “Geez, dude, you look like shit,” Momota utters.

“Thanks,” Rantaro breathes out, his lips quirking pathetically at the edges, and Momota looks at him for a fraction of a second before exhaling, shifting one of his hands, massaging Rantaro’s back. Rantaro finds himself melting into the touch, a thick lump rising up in his throat, and suddenly he doesn’t know how to speak anymore, doesn’t want to.

“What’s up, Amami? What happened?” Momota is frowning, which Rantaro hears rather than sees, because his gaze is fixed to Momota’s eyes not his mouth. Though he can see the way the expression creases Momota’s eyes at the edges. He’s awfully tender.

After a moment of struggling to find his voice, Rantaro manages to speak, forcing out the word, “Nothing,” and it’s true,  _ nothing happened,  _ Momota  _ didn’t _ open up to him, Rantaro  _ didn’t  _ find his sister, he’s back here again and he’s exhausted and alone and he can’t remember why he was trying in the first place, what the point ever was, why he doesn’t just go to sleep right now and never wake himself back up again. The only thing that sounds even slightly more appealing than that would be to throw himself into Momota’s arms and cry, but Rantaro…

Mmmmmmm.

“Nothing happened,” Rantaro reiterates, and his voice sounds terribly choked up, but there’s no helping it.

“Nothing?” Momota repeats, his eyebrows slightly raised, and pinched together in concern.

When Rantaro breathes out, his lip wobbles, and Momota’s gaze is warm enough that he finds it in himself to think,  _ fuck it,  _ and that’s about his last coherent thought. “Nothing,” Rantaro echoes, again, before he collapses against Momota’s chest, and tears start to flood his vision.

To Momota’s credit, he responds pretty good. At least, from what Rantaro can tell, with his face buried in the fabric of Momota’s jacket. He can feel arms slipping around his abdomen, and Momota holds him  _ gently,  _ a hand reaching up to cup the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. He smells like toxic masculinity and brownies, and god if it’s a terrible combination on paper but  _ insanely  _ comforting right now. Rantaro manages to bring his arms up, wrapping them around Momota’s shoulder, pulling himself in impossibly closer, and he knows that this is  _ selfish,  _ that he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be taking more of what Momota is already too eager to give, but he can’t help himself. He’s so fucking tired even if everything is  _ terrible  _ being wrapped up in this embrace makes Rantaro feel safer than he has in years.

Momota lets him cry for a while, and then eventually he squeezes Rantaro a little around the waist, and murmurs something about going inside of Rantaro’s room, which is probably for the better, really, because even through the haze of tears Rantaro can register that someone walking into the dorms and seeing him like this would be absolutely mortifying. So he pulls away for just a moment, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to stem the flow of tears, and watches Momota lean down, scooping his backpack and keys off the floor and eventually unlocking the door, too.

He gestures for Rantaro to go in first, so Rantaro does, breathing in and out carefully, feeling his eyes warm a bit again when he hears the door click shut and then lock behind him.

When Rantaro turns around, Momota’s arms are open, and he only hesitates for a second this time before putting himself back into them, tucking his face into the crook of Momota’s neck.

God, this man is warm. He’s  _ so  _ warm. Rantaro is reminded of a trip that his family took to Peru, right before the trip to the Philippines, when the sun shone all through the day and left Rantaro’s freckles looking like he’d drawn them on with an eyebrow pencil. There’s no sunshine in here right now, though, the curtains are drawn, and even if the weren’t it’s the third week of October, getting closer to November, so. No sun in sight. Rantaro doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about this-- the lack of sun, the warmth, it’s all liable to keep him crying, and if he doesn’t get this under control soon he’s not entirely sure he’s ever going to stop.

He’s not entirely sure he even  _ wants  _ to stop. Not sure he’d be able to let himself take this again afterwards, not if Momota doesn’t get his head out of his  _ fucking  _ ass and talk about whatever’s been bothering him. Even if that does happen, Rantaro isn’t sure he’d be able to let himself take this again. And the embrace is too… comforting, too warm, for him to pretend like he wants to pull back.

Somehow, they end up sitting on the bed, and the positioning has to be a bit awkward on Momota’s part for Rantaro to be able to lean himself against the other boy’s shoulder, but if it is, Momota doesn’t complain at all, even slightly. Rantaro cries for a while, a long time, long enough that he’s not even sure by the end of it  _ how  _ long he cries, but eventually he does cry himself out, and then he’s just sitting there, leaning against Momota, breathing.

...This is always the worst part, the part after the crying, after the comfort, when they ask. Rantaro keeps his eyes closed, his head tilted, his arms curled around Momota, apprehensive about the prospect of being asked, but quietly preparing himself for it regardless.

He feels Momota slip his fingers through his hair, and Rantaro leans into the touch a little, despite himself.

“How’re you feeling?” Momota asks after a while, his voice a low rumble. Rantaro hums, long and unsteady, trying to gather his thoughts enough to answer that question honestly.

“I’ve been better,” he admits, and his voice is slightly hoarse, but he pretends not to notice, and Momota doesn’t comment, either.

“Yeah,” Momota’s smile touches his voice a bit, and Rantaro lifts his head, opening his eyes just to see it. It’s a melancholic smile, but a gentle one, and Rantaro finds his breath catching just a little bit, but he’s out of tears by now, to the point where the only thing he can really do as he processes that smile is blink, steadily, trying to regain his composure. “And you’ll be better, too, y’know? After a good sleep. And maybe some food. Definitely water, though. Need to rehydrate after all that crying.”

Rantaro considers that. Momota has a point. He probably  _ will  _ feel better after a bit of self-care. He feels weird, though, off balance and unsteady, and it takes him a moment to register the reason why. When he does, though, he furrows his brow a little, meeting Momota’s gaze. “Aren’t you-- uh,” he chuckles, clears his throat, “Aren’t you gonna ask? I think you kinda deserve an explanation after I pitched myself onto you like that.”

“Eh,” Momota shrugs with the shoulder that Rantaro isn’t currently leaning on, giving him another small smile. “You can explain if you want, but I don’t  _ need  _ an explanation. It happens. We all need support once in a while.” He squeezes Rantaro’s shoulder, grinning. “The strongest people are the ones who can reach out and take it, y’know?”

Mmm. Rantaro considers that for a moment. He supposes it’s true, ignoring the fact that Rantaro doesn’t actually  _ deserve  _ to take the point. That’s beyond the point right now, though, and there’s no point in bringing it up after Momota just held him through a breakdown. So instead he asks, “We  _ all  _ need support once in a while?”

“Yeah,” Momota nods. “Can’t think of a single person who hasn’t needed support before, it’s just a--”

“Even you?” Rantaro raises his eyebrows, and Momota stops talking, his gaze returning to Rantaro, his brows furrowing together a little. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, okay, Momota-kun? But,” he lifts one of his hands to rest on Momota’s other shoulder, while they’re here, squeezing it lightly. “I know you said last week that you’ve got it handled, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t… that you shouldn’t rely on the people around you, sometimes.” Momota’s expression blanks, and Rantaro wonders if he said too much, if he should’ve just kept that to himself for the moment. He doesn’t want Momota to withdraw again, hates seeing it, but he just… he hates hearing Momota say those things without applying them to himself.

“Why’re you bringin’ this up now?” Momota asks, eventually, his head tilting slightly. It really isn’t the kind of question Rantaro  _ wishes  _ he was answering right now, but he can’t just dodge it. Rantaro sulks for a moment, and then breathes out, closing his eyes, resting his head in the crook of Momota’s neck.

“It’s… I can tell, when you… pull away, y’know. You’re not all that subtle about it. Just charming enough that it’s hard for me to ask about it after the fact.” Rantaro smiles a little, despite himself, but it’s a wry smile. Momota doesn’t reply, thus Rantaro keeps talking. So it goes. “It’s painful watching you pull yourself away from people, especially when you do so much for them. I don’t know the reason, but it’s almost as though you don’t… feel like you deserve it, the support, despite all the people you help all the time.”

“Painful, huh?” Momota chuckles, his voice breathy, and Rantaro frowns. “Sorry about that, didn’t realise it affected you in that way. Hope your crying right now wasn’t accounted to that at all.”

Rantaro doesn’t know what to say to that. If he dismissed Momota’s concern, it would be a lie. And he’d love to lie, if only to spare Momota’s feelings, but right now he can’t bring himself to. “It wasn’t the only thing,” he replies, eventually.

“But it was one of them,” Momota guesses, and Rantaro doesn’t say anything. He feels it when Momota sighs. “Sorry. That’s my bad.”

“It’s  _ not,”  _ Rantaro says, firmly, sitting himself up, putting a hand on Momota’s upper arm and gripping it. “It’s not your bad, it--” he breathes out, wrinkling his nose. “The reason it hurts to see isn’t because you’re doing anything wrong, M--  _ Kaito,  _ it’s just-- it’s because you deserve better than that.” Kaito’s expression is startled, maybe because of the given name use, maybe because of Rantaro’s statement, but Rantaro doesn’t particularly care to analyse the precise reasoning behind it. He only cares to keep talking. “You’re a good person, Kaito, you take care of other people and you deserve good things. You deserve to be taken care of, sometimes, especially when you’re not doing too hot.” Rantaro smiles, a touch wryly. “At least, I think so.”

And for a moment, Kaito is just quiet, looking at Rantaro, his brow furrowed, his lips slightly ajar. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, and so Rantaro holds his breath, chewing the inside of his cheek. And despite all the other times, Rantaro dares to hope, that maybe this time Kaito will listen, maybe  _ this  _ time, Kaito will actually let him in, actually talk to him about whatever the fuck is going on.

_ Please,  _ Rantaro thinks, despite himself. He squeezes Kaito’s arm.  _ Please. _

...Kaito breathes out, and averts his gaze, rolling his shoulders back and lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I can’t,” he mumbles, and Rantaro feels himself deflating, a bitter taste entering his mouth. “I can’t, I-- not right now,” Kaito’s brow wrinkles further, and then Rantaro lifts his gaze to meet Kaito’s, feeling his heart stutter. “I want to, it’s just-- not right now,” and he looks desperately into Rantaro’s eyes, one of his hands coming to close around Rantaro’s, his expression slightly pained. “I don’t-- I can’t ask you to wait for me, because that wouldn’t be fair, but I--”

“Kaito,” Rantaro interrupts, smiling a little. It’s bittersweet; part of Rantaro feels like crying again. But this is better than anything he’s gotten thus far, so he’s going to take it. “I’ll wait as long as you need me to, okay? There’s no time limit on your feelings.”

“Right,” Kaito laughs, breathily, and averts his gaze. He ducks his head a little. “Thanks. Sorry, didn’t mean to make this about me when you were just crying.”

“Hey,” Rantaro chuckles a little bit, too, smiling wider. “It happens. If anything it’s a favour to me, really. I kind of like talking about you.” He squeezes Kaito’s hand, and then hesitates, biting his lip. He knows what he wants, what he wants to say and ask for next, but he… ah. Fuck it. “Can you stay, for a while? It’s okay if you can’t, if you’d prefer to go back to class, I just--”

“No sweat, Rantaro,” Kaito meets his gaze again, smiling, squeezing his hand right back. “Don’t mind staying a while. I know all that crap anyways. And it’s not like I’d just take off and leave you here, without your asking.”

Yeah, okay. Rantaro feels himself warming at that, just a little. He’s really not used to being cared for like that.

...It’s nice, though. Kaito is sweet. And Rantaro is willing to wait as long as he needs, to be able to talk about whatever it is that’s been going on with him. He’s never been all that good at waiting, but. He can try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (to the tune of "it's the final countdown") it's a mental breakdown


	6. Chapter 6

Rantaro spends the next week or so more or less on his guard. Or, well. As on-guard as he can be without making anybody else suspicious. Akamatsu and Saihara and Harukawa are observant, and as much as Rantaro thinks it would be  _ wise  _ for Kaito to open up to them, since they’re his friends and they clearly care about him a lot, Rantaro isn’t going to push anything. Further, he’s not going to do anything that might expose Kaito when he’s not comfortable with it. This trust that’s forming between them is… tenuous, and Rantaro just doesn’t want to risk it.

Despite Rantaro paying extra attention, Kaito behaves pretty normally over the span of the next week. Maybe sometimes he’ll make eye contact with Rantaro over breakfast and smile wider than usual, and maybe some of his back claps and shoulder bumps linger a bit more than they did before, but without the added context Rantaro would almost call that a  _ gay  _ thing, not a vulnerability thing.

And Rantaro definitely wouldn’t mind if it was a gay thing, is all. Even if it being a gay thing would mean that he’d have a whole fuck-ton of things to think about that he hasn’t yet, like, for example, his feelings for Kaito, and whether or not they are actually of the gay variety. (That’s a step Rantaro doesn’t really want to take until Kaito’s ready to work out all his shit, though, so it’s kind of irrelevant at the moment. Rantaro is just gay. He’s a gay man. Gay thoughts are on the mind at  _ all  _ times. That’s all.)

That is, Kaito behaves pretty normally up until Wednesday afternoon, when he becomes much quieter than usual, his hands still on the desk when they’re usually drumming out some sort of pattern. Akamatsu and Harukawa and Saihara all ask him if he’s alright, but Kaito brushes them off, saying that he’s merely tired, and well… Rantaro doesn’t think that that’s the truth, exactly.

But he doesn’t call him out. Of course he doesn’t, why would he, in class like that, in front of Akamatsu and Harukawa and Saihara? That would be inconsiderate. Rantaro would hate to be called out in public, in front of people who he doesn’t want to know. He’s pretty sure Kaito would never do that to him. So he settles for giving Kaito a gentle but meaningful look when the other three have turned away, and smiles slightly when Kaito returns it. He seems sad, and tired, in a very quiet way, but the smile that eventually rises on his lips is realistic, even if it doesn’t touch his eyes.

Rantaro doesn’t push the subject, because he couldn’t, from where he’s sitting across the room, and eventually Kaito averts his gaze, so that’s about the end of that.

On Thursday, Kaito doesn’t show up for class. Rantaro notices, because of course he does, but the rest of the class doesn’t, really, because Thursday happens to be Kiibo’s birthday (in the way that a robot can even  _ have  _ a birthday, the semantics of which Rantaro doesn’t particularly care to think too much into right now), so they’re a bit busy celebrating it. Rantaro doesn’t fault them for that. He couldn’t. But he’s distracted with worries about Kaito to the point where it’s a bit difficult to join in on the festivities. He shot Kaito a text this morning when he missed breakfast, asking if he was alright, but Kaito hasn’t even read it, so really, who knows. Rantaro wanted to check on him, but this morning has been so jam-packed with Kiibo’s birthday things that he hasn’t gotten the chance to sneak off.

It’s frustrating. But Rantaro hasn’t been the only person who’s been worried about it.

About halfway through the morning, while Rantaro is looking at his phone, (where he’s got his chat room with Kaito opened up, waiting to see if he’ll reply to or at least  _ read _ the message,) Harukawa slides into the seat beside him, and Amami looks over at her, letting out a little hum. He taps the power button on his phone, raising his eyebrows mildly.

“Amami,” Harukawa greets; curt as ever.

“Harukawa-san,” Amami returns, smiling. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Don’t be stupid,” she instructs, simply, tugging on one of her twintails. She meets Amami’s gaze, and her eyes are sharp. It’s a bit intimidating. Actually, Harukawa is just generally pretty intimidating. For a babysitter, Amami is startlingly intimidated by her. It’s okay, though. Amami is doing just fine. “You’re close with Momota.” It’s not a question.

“Well, we’re friends,” Amami says, chuckling. Harukawa gives him an annoyed look. “I wouldn’t say that I’m any closer than you or Saihara-kun or Akamatsu-san, though.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harukawa repeats. “I’m not blind to your weird knowing looks across the classroom and the dumb inside jokes about vanilla extract,” she wrinkles her nose. “I also don’t care. I’m just saying this because Momota isn’t here today, and I thought you’d be the most likely to know what’s wrong with him.”

...Oh. That’s thoughtful of Harukawa, actually. Amami remembers how back at the beginning of the month she expressed that trying to talk seriously with Kaito is like talking with a brick wall. At the time he’d been a little put off by the remark, but in retrospect, saying as much implies that… Harukawa  _ has  _ tried. And the fact that she’s here asking means that she does care, despite all the ribbing and all the begrudging involvement in the activities Kaito pushes her into. Amami finds himself smiling.

“Stop making that face,” Harukawa says sharply. “Do you want to die?”   
  


“Not at all,” Amami chuckles. “Wouldn’t you be better off asking Saihara-kun or Akamatsu-san? They’ve been friends with Kaito longer than I have, haven’t they?”

“Neither of them call him by his given name,” Harukawa points out, fidgeting with the ribbon on her uniform. “And you’re deflecting. If you don’t know what’s wrong with Momota, just say that and don’t waste time I could be spending going over there.”

As Amami opens his mouth to admit that no, he doesn’t actually know what’s going on with Kaito, his phone buzzes in his hand, and he puts in the password, unlocking it and looking down at the chat room. There’s a new message from Kaito. Just one.

_ [Can you come to my room?] _

Well, like hell is Amami gonna say no to that. He types out an affirmative and tucks his phone into his pocket, getting to his feet and starting to pack up his shit. Harukawa seems a touch alarmed by the sudden movement, so Amami smiles at her as he swings his bag over his shoulder. “That was him,” he says, by way of explanation. “I’m headed over to his room.”

“Is he okay?” Harukawa asks. She seems to sound more worried than she means to, because she clears her throat and furrows her brow a little. Amami hums a little. Harukawa really does care about Kaito, huh. “Should I come with you?”

“I appreciate it, but I think Kaito is fine,” Amami says-- though he’s not entirely sure that’s the truth. “You don’t have to come along and miss class, Harukawa-san. I’ve got it handled.”

“Which means you don’t want me to come,” Harukawa guesses, and Amami pauses, opening his mouth to contradict. “I already told you I don’t care,” Harukawa huffs, tugging on her twintail again. “Just as long as someone’s making sure the idiot isn’t doing anything stupid like isolating himself.” She purses her lips a little, seeming momentarily pouty, then relaxes her expression. “Tell him he should feel better soon. Because of Akamatsu and Saihara, obviously.”

“Right,” Amami smiles. “Can do, Harukawa-san.”

With that, Rantaro rushes out of the classroom and down the hall. He nearly collides with an underclassman as he goes-- he thinks she’s the Ultimate Violist-- but narrowly manages to avoid impact, giving her a smile and a rushed apology as he hurries out through the building. He’s not sure why he’s rushing so much, actually. Kaito’s text message wasn’t all that urgent. Maybe it’s just that Rantaro is pretty sure that even if it  _ was  _ urgent, Kaito wouldn’t make it out like that. He’s just not that sort of person.

It’s… infuriating, in a sense, but Rantaro’s not about to complain. At least he  _ asked  _ Rantaro to come. That’s all that matters.

He moves swiftly across the courtyard, an arm raised to protect him from the rain, then lowers it to push the door open, scuffing his shoes on the mat as he steps into the dorms. Hoo. The trip to Kaito’s room is almost muscle memory by now. Rantaro gets there in a few long strides and rings the buzzer, taking a moment before Kaito answers the door to catch his breath.

He’s just about gotten it recovered when the door opens. It opens a little bit at first, and then swings open the rest of the way, and Rantaro makes eye contact with Kaito once it has, feeling a lump rise in his throat. His eyes are reddened, and the waterline is bright, as though he’s on the verge of tears. His hair is a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it a lot, and ungelled, hanging down by his face rather than spiked up in its usual smile. He looks like a lot of things, but primarily Kaito looks exhausted, and sad. There are rings under his eyes, and he’s pale, like he didn’t sleep a wink.

“Kaito,” Rantaro breathes out, biting the inside of his cheek. He really doesn’t look too great.

“Hey,” Kaito says, hoarsely. He smiles, then reaches up to wipe one of his eyes with his sleeve. “My uh, my parents died nine years ago today.”

And….  _ oh.  _ Suddenly everything makes sense, the way Kaito missed class on the first day of the month, the way he was crying with his head on the desk that one time a couple weeks ago, when there was nobody around to see him. Even the way he mentioned how his mother taught him how to crack eggs one-handed two weeks ago. She must’ve been on the mind. She must’ve been on his mind the whole of this month.

Rantaro thinks he gets it, now.

He lifts one of his hands, extending his fingers and brushing them against Kaito’s cheek. It’s a bit moist, probably from tears that he wiped away before answering the door. Rantaro hums, quietly, then shifts to cup the whole of Kaito’s cheek with his hand, brushing his thumb against the pad underneath Kaito’s eye. His heart breaks, just a little bit, when Kaito leans into the touch. “I understand,” he murmurs, softly. “What can I do for you right now?”

“Uhm--” Kaito stops, for a moment, his lip trembling, and lfts a hand to cover his mouth, his eyes closing. He takes a breath, tensing and untensing his shoulders. Trying to get himself under control, most likely, though Rantaro has to question how successful that actually is, given that when he opens his eyes again, a couple tears escape. Rantaro catches the ones that he can. “Can you-- I’m not used to answering that question, uh,” he clears his throat, his eyes flitting over and settling on Rantaro. “Can you just hold me for a bit?”

“I can do that,” Rantaro says gently, smiling, and when Kaito shifts back, opening the door further, he steps inside the room, allowing Kaito to close the door before he opens his arms. “Harukawa-san said she hopes you feel better soon, by the way.”

“Oh,” Kaito stops, one of his hands resting on the doorknob, blinking. He doesn’t appear to know how to react to that one, for a moment, because he blinks quickly, his expression twitching, his hand curling and uncurling where it rests. “Right, she-- she’s a lot nicer than she pretends to be, y’know, the caring type, even if--” Kaito’s expression crumples a bit, and Rantaro feels his stomach clench, “--if she doesn’t want you to notice.”

“Yeah,” Rantaro smiles, keeping his arms open, inclining his head a bit. “You notice those things about people a lot, don’t you?”

“I try to,” Kaito says, very quietly, his gaze fixing on the floor. His hand slips off the doorknob and hangs at his side, and Rantaro doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kaito look so despondent. There’s a moment of quiet, where Kaito just stands there, and Rantaro remains in place with his arms out, and briefly Rantaro considers stepping forward and wrapping them  _ around  _ Kaito, but then Kaito lifts his gaze and says, “I just want them to be proud of me, y’know? I--” he stops, lifting a hand to rake it through his hair. “I miss them? I mean, I-- I miss them all the time, but in October I just…”

“I get it, Kaito,” Rantaro whispers. Kaito meets his eyes, and Rantaro swallows, watching his tears start to overflow. “Not with parents. Got a whole lot going for me in the parents department.” That one’s for sure. “But I’ve lost a fair few people in my time, and I always think about them when the days they were lost come up. It’s hard not to dwell.”

“I try not to,” Kaito says, almost desperately, like he has something to prove to Rantaro, even though Rantaro is pretty sure that the only person he’s  _ trying  _ to convince right now is himself. “I know it’s not good to keep thinking about it, and usually I do okay, it’s just that-- sometimes I--”

“It’s okay,” Rantaro reassures, firmly, but gently. “It’s okay to dwell a little. Okay to keep thinking about it. Especially on a day like today. You’re just a kid, Kaito,” Rantaro shifts a bit closer, gesturing with his arms for Kaito to come over. (Kaito doesn’t, just yet, but he does hold Rantaro’s gaze, his expression starting to contort a little.) “I’m sure nobody would blame you for being upset. And I didn’t know your folks, but knowing the kind of guy you are, I’m sure they’d be  _ extremely _ proud of you.”

At that, Kaito lets out a choked-up little sob, and before Rantaro can say anything else, he steps forward and puts himself into Rantaro’s arms, so Rantaro pulls him in close, slipping his arms around Kaito’s shoulders. Kaito is shaking, probably has been a little this whole time, and when he tucks his face into Rantaro’s neck, Rantaro feels his tears starting to soak into the jacket of his uniform.

Mmm. Rantaro hugs Kaito tighter, rubbing his nose against the side of his head. “You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, into Kaito’s ear, and he feels Kaito’s grip around him tighten some at that, but Rantaro doesn’t mind at all, not even a little bit. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, even quieter.

  
“I know,” Kaito’s voice is rough, and thick with tears. Rantaro feels it when his hands fist in the back of Rantaro’s jacket. “Thank you.”

Rantaro cards his fingers through Kaito’s hair, humming a little bit when the other boy shivers in his hold. “No,” he mumbles. “Thank  _ you, _ for trusting me.”

...Maybe there was a little bit of merit to that mutual vulnerability shit, even if it kind of sucks. Rantaro doesn’t know how else he would’ve gotten here, with Kaito crying in his arms.

It was worth it, though. Definitely.

**Author's Note:**

> poses like one of ur french girls
> 
> i've been writing this since july 15th. cries
> 
> serves you a good ol' slice of amamota pie and then fucks off again until i inevitably post another gift fic
> 
> btw you should do amamota week check out the promo post on tumblr at @amamotaweek i just think that would be sexy of you


End file.
